(Jean's POV)

I heard Amanda call, "Bye, Jean." From the front door, just before I heard the click of the door. I crept from my room after hearing the noise, shutting the door quietly behind me.

I had changed into sweats, tennis shoes, and a tank top, I had my hair pulled back into a pony, and I was wrapping my hands up, I finished with my hands and brushed a few strands of hair out of my face, and looked around for my keys.

After a few moments of looking I spotted them in the dish, where we kept all the keys. (Why hadn't I looked there first?)

I snatched up the silver metallic keys, the clicking a satisfactory sound, I turned to the living room, walking through the apocalyptic mess, grabbing a gray hoodie to match my sweats, and heading out the door, locking it behind me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dungeon was completely empty, only I was there, although, it was nice. I always liked my solitude when I trained. 

I flipped the light switch, some of the lights flickering on, most of the fluorescent rods needed to be replaced, but there wasn't enough money coming in to buy more, plus the dim, cold light made it easier to be both scared, and angry, rather than being fully lit, where it would be quite easy to be happy.

I grabbed a Heavy bag from the edge of the room, dragging it over to the hook, and hanging it up, with a little effort and grunting, since the bag definitely wasn't light. 

I gave it a little push to make sure it was secure, and walked off to get some boxing gloves to go over my wrapped hands. 

I found the black gloves, took off my hoodie, tossed the gray attire to the side, and then slipped on the gloves, making my way back to the bag.

I brought my fists up, protecting my face, while spreading my feet about shoulder width apart.

I inhaled deeply, then exhaled deeply, my blue eyes flickering over the bag.

 I grounded my feet, got my balance, composed myself.

Then it had begun, I started with three swift jabs, the bag shuddering under the force.

I moved around the bag when I would pause, I would send more jabs, hooks, straights, etcetera.

This practice carried on, until I eventually started seeing things I knew my trainer had told me to ignore and focus, but now, well, I was too pissed to care.

I was seeing Jeff, that sick man, with the carved smile, pale skin, and soulless eyes, he had become my punching bag, he had become the ragdoll I was pounding.

But he was dodging every blow I threw at him, giggling maniacally. 

Finally I took my final shot, hoping that would finish him-it-the bag, hoping it would finish the bag off.

 As I raise my rear leg for the kick, I bend it back upon itself so that the back of my calf is almost touching my thigh. Bringing the bent leg up so that my knee is pointing out to the side.

Pivoting on my lower foot, turning my body so that my kicking leg moves toward my bag. As I do this, I extend the leg in a sudden but smooth motion, snapping it forward.

The vision blows away, and I'm left panting, staring at the bag, beads of sweat on my forehead, and my shirt damp with sweat.

"Go to hell, Jeff" I mutter to myself, hearing his answer in my head. "Nope, I can't go to hell." He laughed. "Satan still has a restraining order against me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I set my keys down as I shut the door behind me, slipping my hoodie off again.

I could tell Amanda wasn't home. There was this depressing aura that came around when she was gone, I guess it's 'cause she meant food and coffee, the two lifelines in this pointless world.

I shrugged off the feeling, starting to unwrap my hands, dropping each individual wrapping on the floor, heading to the kitchen to grab a cup of liquid cocaine.

Turns out there was no more, making me groan in distaste, I don't wanna make any of my own.....

I grabbed the grounds, setting them next to the pot, stepping to the other side of the kitchen to the silverware drawer, opening it and digging around in the separated metals for a scoop.

Finally finding it I snatched it up, stepping back to the drip brewer, popping the top open, digging the scoop into the grounds, and dumping them into the pot, repeating this motion a few times before shutting the lid on the drip machine.

I checked the water, that was half full, so I'd be good for a new pot. I pressed the "on" button, and the machine began the process of steeping. 

I cleaned up the grounds, put the scoop back in the container, and put the container of grounds back in the cabinet. I grabbed my mug out of the cupboard and set it on the counter next to the coffee machine.

By that time the machine had started dripping the Ebony liquid. I wandered around the kitchen for a few seconds, picking things up, putting them away, trashing garbage, etc.

Midway through drying a clean glass the constant dripping of the liquid started to get louder. 

Drip,

Drip,

Drip,

Drip. 

Blood, blood everywhere.

And Amanda.

Amanda's blood.

Amanda, with a knife,

In her chest,

Blood, bright red blood, blood coming from the knife.

No, not the knife, Amanda.

Blood coming from Amanda.

No. Was my only thought, I tore away from the darkness that held me, rushing towards the spotlight that held Amanda's bloodied body.

As soon as I was to her side, I dropped to my knees, snatching up my friend's hand, and holding it to my chest.

Her lips twitched in response, and her droopy, heavy eyelids shut, she opened them again, and her irises were on me now.

She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a rough cough, and a splatter of blood.

She opened her mouth again, this time words forming, only a few.

"Finish this." She whispered to me, rough, but still Amanda's voice.

"Finish it for me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(A/N) This book is so much better than the first try omg.

I'm gonna look back at this like a month from now and cringe terribly though.

*Murders a ferret*

Goodbye, my skinny jeans~.

~Jean

P.S: can someone like go through and comment things I need to edit? It's late and I just want to get this up.